


Touch Alone Leads Us.

by fearless_seas



Series: We Were Made of Sunshine and Gold [15]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: Charles doesn't say a single word on the plane but Pierre never fell in love with him for the way he spoke. So he touches him, he holds him and every brush, each touch, it speaks for them where phrases fail. Arms that hold when all else fails. It says, I love you, without the syllables having ever passed his lips.





	Touch Alone Leads Us.

**Author's Note:**

> The most painful race of the season is upon us. Tu nous manques, Jules. Toujours.

          The plane ride is silent. Soft, pink sunshine drifts in through the single window in strikes of color. Pierre turns his gaze towards his right, to Charles who is  calmly seated there. His eyes blink slow over sleepy, heavy eyelids. There is a soft fuzz to him, a gentle quality in his ruffled brown hair and the smooth arch of his nose and lips. A hint of turbulence doesn’t even cause him to shift his frame. Pierre sighs and fiddles his fingers  tensely about in his lap. But the twilight dresses Charles up and he doesn’t know if he notices that he is staring at him.

_“Ca va aller?”_

_“Pierre, love, stop worrying, je vais bien.”_

_“Are you--”_

_“Pierre.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“I know.”_

          The conversation still buzzes in his head. There isn’t the slightest sound between the two of them now.  Pierre doesn’t like quiet because he doesn't like  being left alone with his dangerous thoughts . Neither does he like to think of Suzuka and imagine that loss.  A heavy sensation pulses in the core of his chest; a somehow empty notion that an entity has, and is, missing for a long while . But  maybe the plane doesn’t have to land, the wheels do not need to touch soil and Japan can only be a lifetime away. Perhaps, all they need is the atmosphere, each other and...  _ S top, that’s stupid _ , he stammers  reticently as if someone were listening to his pensations, his cheeks flush . Charles stopped moving when the engines roared to life half an hour ago and they  were carried into the sky. He doesn’t seem to budge, to allow a single thing to leave him.

          Pierre opens his mouth to speak then  sharply catching himself, he closes once again. There is a special manner with which they can both speak to each other between the lines. There's a soft flutter of touch that lingers as he holds him. The light sips in the drunk sounding spill of the smile in his voice. He swallows and lifts his hand out of his lap, reaches his fingers across to his lover's and loops them with his. Charles freezes, a hiccup buries itself in his throat and a hitch twitches in his veins. Without a word, Pierre laces their fingers, allows his forearm to brush his. It arrives, the waterfall of breath, rushed and long awaited past quivering lips. He squeezes his hand, the pad of his thumb rubbing little circles into his palm.

_I told you I was fine_ , the hold almost seems apologetic, _I am sorry I lied_.

          Pierre lifts his other hand, slides it over the length of his jaw, tilts his head away from the window towards his. Eyes meet and Charles’s slow eyes feel restless like a storm,  but  maybe a bit of rain would be okay with him . Charles's hand raises but before he can do anything, Pierre snatches it up his free hand. He tugs it towards his face and presses his lips to one of the knuckles. The need to protect strikes him, that he wishes he could wipe the poison from his brain and pinch the bruises away. But it isn’t a gesture, it’s not a message, and yet, it had certain meaning. He hastes his lips to the pale skin and it says better than phrases could:

_Don’t worry about it._

          Charles weakens like clay, the strain ceasing from his jaw, his shoulders fall. Pierre thinly nods, guiding their head carefully into his lap. It says:

 _I have you_.

          He threads his fingers through the back of his hair and Charles shudders underneath his touch.

 _Go wander about in your dreams for a while_.

          Pierre knows Charles and he never wished to know anyone else like this. So when he leans forward, sweeping a kiss to his temple and tugs him closer on his lap, it does more than words can. It says:

 _You’re all I really need_.

          Charles hums as though to reply, _Thank you_.

          He falls asleep there, on his thighs, and Pierre shifts his eyes towards the window. The sunlight is all but an ivory sliver on the horizon. There is an idea: he'll be there, at that golden halo, where things shine beautiful bright like stars over a city. He wonders: _are you out there?_ All there is in these small, dismal moments when there is nothing but each other in that glow of warmth. It's a kindled fire cradled between shivering palms sheltering from the wind. He whispers:

          “He is so proud of you, Charles.”

          And that plane to Japan is filled with anything but silence and irreverence.

          Because you fall in love with actions not words; exactly as arms hold one another when you sense that everything is  slowly but  surely … falling apart . Arms that render:

_I'm here_.

          Syllables that do not pass lips and convey only:

          _I love you._

          And so much more.

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests. Comments and kudos appreciated, I respond to every comment. My Tumblr is @pieregasly, if you've got any questions or just want to talk!


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